


return to sender

by thequarrelofmoths



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, But Mostly Hurt, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves Whump, tua s2 spoilers, will update tags!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25930180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequarrelofmoths/pseuds/thequarrelofmoths
Summary: TUA SEASON 2 SPOILERS!!!!!!!!The world is okay, and Klaus is anything but.(Or, the one where Klaus deals- or rather, doesn’t- being alone all over again, and struggles without the ghost of his brother as the angel on his shoulder.)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	return to sender

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! this is my first fic ever on ao3 and i barely know how this site works uh... if anyone sees this hello!!! please drop a comment :’-) id love to know what u think and if you had any favorite parts/lines or whatever. i’m not sure how long i’m going to make this but uh... i don’t know if it’s going to be very happy! i’m in a terrible place right now and practically projecting on klaus... anyways... basically an AU? where the sparrow academy does not exist and the apocalypse has been been averted because i can’t predict s3 i just want to write Angst

The world is okay, and Klaus is anything but. 

(The house feels so much emptier. He wonders if he was always this alone.) 

Returning from the 1960’s left him exasperated, skin itching and body tired in ways like never bore. The apocalypse was averted, and everything is back to normal- the seven of them had resided in the good ol’ “family mansion” for the meantime. 

Shit. The six of them. 

Ben isn’t here, not like he was before. Ben isn’t here to poke fun at his antics, to keep him sane. Ben isn’t here, and he’s reminded of it in every passing second. 

Klaus can’t stay in the house- it’s vastly large and far too empty and he can’t stand the woman with the slit throat who stares at him from across the room. 

“Klaus,” the woman says, voice raspy, and he clasps his hand over his ears. 

“Not now.” He whispers back, and it does anything but discourage the woman.

Her hair is salt-and-peppered, eyes vacant and brown but lost of all honey roasted warmth. She stares at him and lifts one and a half hands, seeing as one is mangled to pieces and speckled with bits of bone in between. “Klaus,” she says again, and that’s the final straw for his last remaining pieces of patience. 

“Alright. That’s enough,” Klaus says, and forgets his shoes on the way out.

The universe truly has it out for Klaus- the universe and the little girl on her bike somewhere in a world of grey.

He’s agnostic, but it hardly mattered anyways. 

And he knows the little girl (that’s all she is- Klaus is agnostic, for God’s sake and shit, he thinks, the irony) is staring down at him now when Diego stops him in the doorway, because of course he does. Klaus almost laughs.

Diego is staring at him with a knowing look of pity, doe-like eyes practically looking at his soul and Klaus almost wonders if he sees a ghost. And shit, that one’s funny, and Klaus does laugh this time as he looks at the little boy with an awfully large bruise atop his head. He’s on a roll today. 

“What’s so funny?” Diego scoffs, arms now crossed, and Klaus wants him to be furious. Klaus wants him to be angry because it’s either that or endless apologies and pity filled looks. 

“Nothing,” Klaus says with a twitch in the corner of his mouth, and moves to push past his stubborn brother. For once, Diego complies.

“You’re not wearing any shoes,” Diego calls after him, and Klaus can only pretend to not hear. 

It’s cold outside, Klaus comes to realize, and wraps the thin excuse for a coat closer to his shivering form. The first snowfall of the year dawned yesterday, a small flurry, and Klaus had been too busy shacked up in his room to notice. A thin blanket of white powder covers all surfaces with a sheet of snow, and he can only think about inhaling white powder of a different substance and floating away.

He’s shaking, and he isn’t sure if it’s from the cold. 

He reaches a crosswalk (or maybe it’s his tenth?) and there’s a man waiting for him on the other side. 

(He knows the man is waiting for him because his legs are mangled in a way that shouldn’t be able to keep him upright, arms bent behind his back and blood pouring from a crack near his skull. Klaus doesn’t want to cross the street.) 

He walks forward. 

The man is waiting, watching, and Klaus drags himself towards him when he wants nothing more than to turn back. 

Ahead lies a dead man with hands out to touch and poison. Behind there is nothing but an empty house of lies and broken promises. (I promise, Klaus, I'll always be there for you.) 

Klaus can’t decide which is worse. (He’s sure Ben would know.)

“Klaus,” moans the man at the end of the street, and the streetlight flashes red, illuminating the ghost’s bloody gashes. Klaus is never quite sure how they know his name, but now he’s used to it.

In a way, he supposes he’s their prophet too. They cling to him because for once, they’re seen, and Klaus almost doesn’t want to blame them. He remembers clinging to Ben when there was no one else left, when all he had was empty syringes and empty alleyways and the empty shell of his brother. He remembers trying to cling to Ben somewhere in the streets, seizing in the aftermath of an overdose. He remembers ghostly hands passing through him and Ben’s frantic voice, muddled in his ringing ears. He remembers Luther and Diego and Allison and Five and Vanya leaving leaving leaving and Ben being the only one to stay. 

He supposed it was never a mutual decision, anyways. Klaus had dragged his brother into a life beyond life, a life where Ben was forced to watch his screw-up druggie sorry excuse for a brother take for granted all the things he never got for himself. Ben was forced to sit on the sidelines and Klaus poisoned his veins and tore himself to pieces and there was nothing he could do and now he’s gone gone gone-

The dead man says Klaus’ name again, and he comes to his senses (or what’s left of them.) He’s sitting, he realizes, at the corner of the sidewalk. The concrete is cold and unforgiving, and Klaus feels the same.

It’s dark outside, and it wasn’t dark before. He wonders how long he’s retreated into his own mind, thinking about things that never were and could’ve been. 

The man reaches out to touch him, and Klaus loses it. 

As much as he hates to admit it, he went sober for Ben. He went sober so Ben could have a chance to interact with the world, so he could take the opportunities Klaus had thrown away. Soon enough, three years had passed by and Klaus had never felt so invincible. He had a following, and he had power. 

He had his brother, and that was enough. 

But the ghosts never left- not now, and not in the 1960’s. And as he strengthened, as the last remaining drugs in his system withered away, they became more persistent than ever. Ben could touch Klaus, which meant the others could as well. He didn’t control the ghosts- they controlled him, but luckily, Ben had been there to push them and pry their ghoulish hands away. Ben had kept him safe from his worst nightmares and encouraged him to stay away from the promises of certain nothingness.

(Ben isn’t here now, but the dead man at the crosswalk is. His hands are cold and they dig into Klaus’ arms.)

He barely manages to hold back a scream. 

“Get off!” He yells, curls against the wall and only manages to slam his head. “Get off!” He says again, voice breaking. The man persists further, eyes widening. He’s finally recognized. 

“I was hit by a car, Klaus,” the man says, and Klaus could care less. He wants to leave, to shrink into his own skeleton and rattle beneath the earth. “I was hit by a car, and it kept going, and now I’m here,” the man laughs, and Klaus only cowers further. Another hand digs into his skin, and the man is practically shaking him. He isn’t cold anymore, he realizes, and that’s probably not a good thing. 

Klaus doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing fair left for any of them. He can’t look at the man and he can’t look at Luther or Diego or Allison or Five or Vanya (as if they’d look at him, anyways). 

When he looks up again, the mangled man is gone. It’s cold again, and maybe that’s a good thing. The moon hangs high up in the sky, and Klaus doesn’t know if it’s waxing or waning- he bets Luther knows.

He imagines the moon hurtling down right now, a spectacular display of asteroids and flame and rock that would end all life. (It’s all just deja-vu.) 

If it were any other day, Ben would be next to him right now. Ben would tell him it was cold, far too cold, and Ben would tell him it was starting to snow. Ben would tell him to get off the streets and stay away from the drugs and point him in the direction of the nearest homeless shelter for the night. Ben would watch over his fitful sleep and promise to stay by his brother’s side. 

“This is your fault,” Klaus spits out to no one (and someone) in particular. It’s easier to blame someone who isn’t here to provide defense.

It’s cold out. Ben would tell him he isn’t wearing any shoes and his coat is paper thin. 

There’s another figure approaching the crosswalk, and Klaus tenses. The stoplights are flashing red, blood red. His body coils up, and then-

“Holy Shit! Klaus?- you- holy shit!” There’s a laugh, a guffaw, and Klaus finally brings himself to look up. It’s hard to pick out distinct features in the midnight darkness, but the man before him doesn’t appear to be drenched in blood. The man definitely doesn’t have mutilated limbs or an abnormally disfigured face, but Klaus doesn’t let his guard down. “It’s cold out,” the man says, and he can only bring himself to nod in agreement. “Are you still living on the streets, man? I know it’s been awhile, but I’ve uh- I’ve still got my ol’ apartment, and y’know- ‘the goods.’”

Klaus’ mind is muddled, even without the drugs, and he can’t remember who this man is. All he can think about is how fucking cold he is. He breathes out and exhales white frost. It looks like smoke, and reminds him of warmth running through his veins and floating floating floating nothing nothing nothing-

The man says something else. Klaus just nods, struggles to stand up. “Okay,” Klaus says, voice quiet. Okay. Let’s go.” 

He wakes up on a striped couch he doesn’t recognize. He hardly recognizes anything these days, he thinks. Maybe it helps him preserve the memory of Ben- it almost feels like Ben was never there. Klaus can’t help but wonder if he never was. Maybe he’s truly crazy now (or maybe he’s always been?) and maybe, the figment of his dead brother had been nothing but that- an act of imagination. He had just been so goddamn lonely. 

The man from last night (he remembers that) walks into the living room- it’s really the only room, a studio sized apartment with a kitchen-like area and a closed off bathroom in the corner. Klaus remembers throwing up in that bathroom, now that he sees the shaggy green carpet and mildew stains on the wall. He’s been here before, and that’s probably not a good thing.

The man, who he can now see in the foggy light of morning, has shaggy blonde hair and sunken eyes. He’s tall and well-muscled but still has the look of an addict. Klaus recognizes it even before he sees the joint the man is holding up to his lips, taking a drag. 

Klaus wants to leave. 

For lack of a better name- or any name, really- Blondie sits next to Klaus on the couch, stares at him with devilish eyes. There’s a silence hanging in the air, but it’s not awkward. It’s not anything, really. Blondie smokes and Klaus stares ahead at a brother who isn’t there and maybe never was. 

“Want a hit?” Blondie says, and before Klaus’ brain can catch up, the joint is pressed up against his lips. He whines out a protest- three years three years three years- because, fuck, he did this for Ben.

(And Ben’s gone gone gone gone and Klaus is alone and it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.) 

Three years, Klaus thinks, and inhales the sour smoke. Blondie coos, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ll feel better soon. You looked like shit last night.” (Klaus takes another hit.) “You wow me for this. Later,” he says, and Klaus definitely doesn’t want to think about the implications. 

After a couple smokes (or four, or ten, or a hundred), Klaus realizes Blondie is right- he does feel better. Better than he has in weeks, in months, and he laughs. The bloodied girl in his peripheral vision has stopped screaming, and now she’s gone. She’s gone, Klaus thinks, and laughs. 

(Ben is gone too. Klaus wonders if that means something significant.)

Klaus sputters, choking on the fumes, and it seems to amuse Blondie. The man chuckles, still holding the joint to his lips. Klaus wheezes a third, fourth time, coughs again, and Blondie draws back the joint.

“You can stay tonight if you still don’t have a place. I know it’s been awhile since we’ve- well, y’know.” The man stops, laughs a little, and it’s devilish. Klaus wants to leave, but he’s suddenly aware of how much his body hurts and how cold he is, still. The momentary relief provided by the smoke is fading away, and he wants more more more more-

“I’ll stay,” Klaus says. 

(He stays.) 

Ben isn’t watching when Blondie presses up against him later that night. Ben doesn’t intervene because Ben isn’t there, and Klaus is alone alone alone alone-

Blondie kisses him, and Klaus still doesn’t remember his name. There’s no passion and no intent and Klaus is empty empty empty empty-

Blondie pushes him on the couch, and Klaus wants to leave. He doesn’t want to do this,  
not now, and not with a man he can’t quite remember. He used to do this before, for pills and powder and leaves, before when Ben begged him not to. Ben doesn’t beg him now, so he lets Blondie press a pill to his lips and uses it as a distraction. 

Klaus leaves in the morning. It’s cold, even more frigid than yesterday (or was it 2 days ago? a week?) but he can’t afford to stay another night. He doesn’t like paying the price, at least not like this. 

Ben would coax him to return home, and Ben would keep the ghosts from prying at his skin. 

Everything is too much now, all the sudden, and Klaus stops in his tracks. He’s aware of the sound of cars rumbling, gravel scratching, and the twitching underneath his skin. He scratches at it, desperate for relief, and nothing happens. He prys at his own skin with ghostly hands, praying to a God who rejects his presence. He looks down at his shoeless feet, his body sweating and shivering at the same time in the freezing wind. There’s definitely something wrong about that, he realizes, noticing the blue and purple tinges his feet have taken on. The concrete beneath his soles burns- it burns, and his skin is on fire and he’s burning and-

-and he’s on the sidewalk and he’s 

gone 

gone 

gone. 

Diego was the first to leave, he thinks. It wasn’t much of a surprise to anyone- he’d been restless for years, fighting with Luther and Dad at every given opportunity. He’d left like a vigilante in the night, only stopping to say goodbye to Mom. It was no shock to Klaus, who was seventeen and high as hell, to find his brother’s room empty the next morning. He’d been expecting it- they all had. 

Klaus pops in and out over the next year- he doesn’t have much of a place to crash, and as long as he participates in Dad’s godforsaken missions, he’s promised ready meals and a lasting bed. It takes his toll- when his stashes of drugs are found, his weakness, he’s kicked out for the night. Ben is there, and he remembers that.

Vanya leaves next, and Klaus is barely disappointed he doesn’t even notice- his mind is fogged with opiates and his extra ordinary (pun intended, he thinks) sister’s presence was anything but bold. Allison leaves shortly after, destined for stardom, and Klaus isn’t allowed into the Hargreeves family mansion. He wouldn’t return anyways, if he had the chance. 

Ben doesn’t leave, and he doesn’t get the chance. Klaus dragged away his option and left him on this piece of shit Earth with his piece of shit brother, and fuck, he knows Vanya said it wasn’t his fault. It’s always been his fault- it’s the one sad normalcy in his disturbed life, and he clings to it like he clinged to Ben. It’s his fault because that’s how it’s supposed to be.

His siblings are mad at him, he’s sure of it. Towards the end, they only really kept Klaus around because it kept Ben around. Ben isn’t here, and Klaus shouldn’t be.

His hands shake. It’s cold outside, and he hardly noticed the growing flurry of snow. He reaches into his coat pocket for the baggies he stole from rummaging through Blondie’s drawers- stashes of unknown pills and he barely even registers how many he’s taken. His hands are shaking, still, and he walks forward.

(The dead man at the crosswalk is gone. Klaus thinks that’s a good thing.) 

He wonders if he’ll ever feel normal again. If he’ll ever feel again. He wonders if anyone noticed that he’s gone, that he’s been gone for over a day (or two? or three or seven or thirty?).

They didn’t notice last time, when he’d been tortured for information he didn’t even know. They didn’t notice when he’d fought in a war for a fucking year and emerged more traumatized that before, which in itself, speaks numbers. 

He feels numb all over, and walks on frozen feet towards a destination that doesn’t want him back. 

Return to sender, he thinks, but the sender is gone and there’s nowhere to return to. 

“Let’s go home, Benny-boy,” He whispers.

(He receives no response.)

**Author's Note:**

> uhh this chapter was kinda weird but if anyone actually read this hello!! drop a comment :’-)


End file.
